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lavenderprose · 3 months ago

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I'm thoroughly convinced that in any sort of modern-day AU, Rook and Emmrich are the couple whose first date basically just never ends. There's a meet-cute. They meet in the grocery store when they both reach for the same jar of pickled eggs. Or in an elevator of a fancy hotel where Emmrich is attending a conference and Rook is on a galpal's bachelorette vacay. Or at a blood drive where Emmrich is grading papers and Rook is reading the trashiest novel she could get her hands on.

They hit it off. Emmrich, of course, finds Rook charming and Emmrich is, of course, the king of unassuming rizz. They exchange numbers. They go on a date that weekend to some stuffy gastropub that Emmrich apologizes for recommending no less than six times mostly because Rook looks at the prices on the menu with the kind of dismay that Emmrich remembers from being young and poor and hungry.

He pays for their meal, of course, and utterly insists that she order dessert.

They go for a walk. They Uber home, again on Emmrich's dime. Emmrich walks Rook up to her doorstep and intends to leave her with a quick peck, maybe even on the cheek, and a promise to call --but Rook slinks her arms around his neck and presses her body to his and invites him up.

"Terribly sorry," Emmrich half-yells into the Uber driver's passenger side window "It seems we're both staying here! I have--a tip--" He shoves a twenty dollar bill through the cracked window. It flutters anticlimactically onto the passenger seat. "Here you go!"

Rook's apartment is small, cluttered but clean, and they do not reach the bedroom. Emmrich fucks her on the sofa, which is second-hand and which they sink into alarmingly far, and they enjoy the afterglow together by scrolling through late-night offerings on a delivery app because Rook mentions that the gastropub's serving sizes were abysmal. They order a pizza, and Rook eats wearing nothing but her lacy purple thong and Emmrich's discarded white button-up. Emmrich watches her and feels his heart nervously flutter.

He stays the night.

In the morning, he plans to make her coffee and offer some eggs and then take his leave, because it seems polite and he has no reason to think she wouldn't want her Sunday to herself. Instead, Rook drinks the coffee, pops out of her chair and mentions that there is an Antivan bakery just down the street if he wants to walk with her.

He does, of course.

"I'm applying to graduate programs right now," Rook tells him, chewing on a biscotti, cute fingers wrapped around a second coffee. They sit in the window of the bakery on a pair of charmingly previous-century wrought iron bistro chairs. "There's one program...I want it so badly, but they only accept six candidates every three years. I've been out of school for a few years and I was going through some stuff in undergrad, so my GPA wasn't the greatest. I'l doubt I'll get in."

"Which program?" Emmrich inquires. Each of their pairs of legs are folded under the table, his right-over-left and hers left-over-right. They periodically tap their feet together and each time it happens, he smiles.

"It's a fellowship to study at the Grand Necropolis," Rook tells him. "Specifically, their program on funerary practices from the turn of the first millenium, which is--what?"

"Oh," Emmrich says, a little flustered. "Nothing, it's just--well, I'm tenured at the Necropolis. I know exactly the person who will be reading your application. It's not my program, of course, but I could...would you like me to look over your application? I know what she'll be looking for."

This is how Emmrich ends up sitting at Rook's dining room table well into the afternoon, reading through her extensive application to the Necropolis' fellowship program. She's undersold herself extensively--and he tries to aim her in a better direction while also not getting any of his fingerprints on the application. Myrna would easily be able to tell if she was reading an application written by someone who she'd eaten brunch with once a month for the past eight years.

"I should probably be going," Emmrich says, stretching out his back after several hours. "I have a...well, my bird gets nervous if I'm gone for long periods of time."

"You have a bird?" Rook asks, with delight, and this is how he ends up being driven back to his place by an overly-excited Rook, who apparently had a childhood dream of owning a parrot.

Manfred seems equally fascinated by her, as he hops onto her shoulder and makes a serious of hisses.

"His previous home evidently had cats," Emmrich tells her, gently petting the top of Manfred's head, and Manfred displays his other skill--screeching 'Emmrich!' over and over.

This is when things start to blur. Emmrich makes dinner, they eat, watch an episode of whatever is on the TV, and then have sex again--in the bed this time, Rook on top, hair down, and she looks...well, he doesn't last long.

In the morning, she goes to work. Texts him in the middle of the day to ask if he likes Tevinter food. He says yes, and she asks if he's free that evening. Also yes.

It's about a week later that Emmrich realizes they haven't spent much more than a workday apart since Saturday. It being Saturday again, Emmrich mentions it.

"Oh," says Rook, looking suddenly unsure. "I'm sorry, did you--if you need me to go, I can--"

"No!" Emmrich all but yells. "I just meant--am I monopolizing your time? Do you have...things I'm, er, keeping you from?"

Rook settles back against the sofa, which she's been lounging on beautifully on this rainy Saturday morning in Emmrich's pajama top and underneath Emmrich's mother's crochet blanket.

"Most of my friends are also, y'know, busy professionals," Rook sighs, head leaning on her hand, hair draping. "It's hard to make time. And I don't have family, really. I can leave if you want, really, I would understand. I just got a little carried away because--well, it's nice. To have someone to come home to." She frowns. "I don't know, is that weird to say?"

"No," Emmrich says, tears watering in alarming fashion. "No, darling, it makes perfect sense."

Everyone is only vaguely concerned when Rook moves into Emmrich's place a month later.

"It's not like we're getting married," Rook scoffs repeatedly.

Except that they do, before the end of the year. By that point, however, it seems that everyone has made peace with the situation--mostly because they finish each other's sentences, and sigh like lovelorn puppy dogs when they're apart, and mostly because nobody can really imagine them any other way nowadays.

#emmrich volkarin #emmrook #dragon age #DATV

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harlotistic · 6 months ago

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technically still lovers

tw. fem pov, non-con, drugging (?), overstimulation, somnophilia, cunnilingus, unprotected, birth control drugging

stalker!xavier is the type of guy who'd creep into your windows late at night and whisper "so pretty..." as he brushes it out of your face. his eyes beneath his mask shines with reverence and worship as he kisses your skin. you're everything he had ever wanted. you always have been.

bumping into you again at the association had him in a chokehold. he had waited literal milleniums after all. so when your eyes hold no recognition as you smiled and apologised before scurrying off, he was rendered speechless as his light orbs floated around him, glinting in his dazed blue eyes. you look the same. as pretty as when he first met you all those years back.

he moved into the same apartment building as you by any means necessary, greeted you casually and laughed about how coincidental it all was. and then he'd start sending you drinks. they were experimental. his favourite combinations. and they made you oh so sleepy.

so sleepy that you barely stirred when he crept into your apartment with a mask on breathing all heavy. when he parted your thighs to inhale the deep scent of you. he was in heaven. right where he was all those years back. he'd nose your underwear, his moans and breaths muffled against you. he'd lick your sensitive skin through the fabric as he rutted against the sheets, even when his saliva would drip down the sides and the fabric was all see through. he'd suck and nibble, pulling the fabric aside and smearing your mess all over.

when you're all ready and perfect, he'd unbuckle his belt with hasty trembling fingers and bite the hem of his shirt between his teeth to stifle the throaty whines of desperation tumbling from his lips. he'd push in so deep and try not to cum, face so flushed and dick rock hard from being pent up for thousands of years. you felt perfect. so warm, soft, and soaked. also perfectly snug. he'd thrust shallowly and slowly at first, edging himself and trying to hold back. "you're perfect. made just for me...just hng- for me ah-" and then despite his 'best' efforts, he'd cum inside as tears pearl at his pretty white lashes.

his hips would stutter as he pulled you closer, painting your insides white with hot spurts of his thick sticky release. he'd pant into your neck and keep thrusting even as his dick flushed and burned from the sensitivity. he'd keep rutting and rutting until you're all squelchy and full, kissing your lips and pushing his tongue down your throat. "ah fuck, fuck, fuck! i'm gonna cum again...keep taking me inside,hm? just...like...that...hng-"

he'd just crush some birth controls into your daily teabags. for now, all that matters is you're back in his life. his first and last love.

#☆.writes #tw.dark content #xavier x reader #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #tw.noncon

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maybe-a-dinosaur · 1 year ago

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kuroo tetsurou BIG lego guy. he saw the lego millenium falcon in a display window when he was seven years old and got Hooked . he’s been collecting ever since he has a miscellaneous bin under his bed it’s Huge he’s got every fucking piece like ever he has shelves in his room full of completed and staged sets they range from nerdy stuff like lord of the rings batman apollo 11 to the taj mahal and a bonsai tree. he has the most star wars legos like he’s made it his life goal to collect the sets he saves up to buy one every year the death star is his pride and joy it is front and center on display he shows it off like a newborn baby. he’s got a minifigure keychain on his backpack he gets the little mystery packs as gifts from his friends he has a clock shaped like a red 2x4 block he is a man consumed.

even adult like buisness man kuroo he has legos on display in his office he has a lego picture frame on his desk (next to his desktop mini golf course and darth vader bobble head) he is the most laidback professional in the history of Ever his tie has legos on it and he has a scar on his foot from stepping on one. he’s an wrinkly old man still buying lego sets arthritis ain’t stopping him it’s not an obsession it’s a way of life.

#lego joker keychain on his backpack for Years of his life by the time he’s in high school it’s headless and missing a hand he’s still there #legoland is his dream vacation spot he used to watch ninjago religiously it’s just!!!!!!!#the under bed box is the source of all inspiration he digs through and finds gold he thought he wanted to be an engineer #kuroo tetsurou big lego guy #lego #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu

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archipithecus · 2 years ago

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Friends at the Table is a podcast focused on critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, fun interaction between good friends, and asking "what if X was Y? what if W could do Z?"

anyways here's a non-comprehensive selection of some times FatT asked good hypotheticals

(spoilers for Autumn in Heiron, Marielda, Winter in Heiron, COUNTER/Weight, Twilight Mirage, Sangfielle, and some Bluff City i think) (i know Spring, Partizan, and Palisade must also have good "what if X was Y?" but i'm still catching up) (this got way long so i'm putting it behind a readmore) (shoutout to Search at the Table at https://curiosity.cat-girl.gay/ for letting me do this) (also to Transcripts at the Table for writing this all down in the first place)

KEITH: What if I was a snow...hawk… ART: What if you're like, a Dr. Seuss animal? KEITH: Yeah! What if I was a star-bellied sneetch?

KEITH: (laughing) What if the bird was a can opener!

AUSTIN (as Zaktrak): It's like, what if a, what if a factory or train or a windmill could read a book?

AUSTIN (CONT.): And then he, he looks up, he actually has like a very… his build is kind of like, angular and… not thin in terms of like, weak? But he has a sort of… androgynous character about him, in terms of his like, what you would think of as like his body structure. And… very beautiful blue eyes. He’s sort of like, what if David Bowie was super black.

AUSTIN: And that's kind of like, the picture you get of her, is like, What if Fero was like, 30% less hyperactive? Still way more hyperactive than everybody else in-- the world? (laughter) but like, just a little more in tune, with the world.

AUSTIN: What if fire was matte?

ART: What if a—what if a 90s after school special needed some graffiti

AUSTIN: Yeah. He asks you, um... watching what unfolds, and there's, there's, it's--and this is the fuckin' nerdiest thing I'm ever gonna say; it's like what if A-ha's Take On Me was an AMV? Was an anime music video?

AUSTIN: Ali’s character, how did she describe her character, “what if Han Solo used to be Beyonce?”

AUSTIN: It’s like, what if the American government was just another American company?

AUSTIN: It’s like what if holograms did gifs, basically?

ART: You how like Han Solo’s always talking to the Millenium Falcon, but what if the Millenium Falcon-- AUSTIN: Could talk back? ART: Had a chance of, yeah, of deciding he was angry.

SYLVIA: For example. Like just p - yeah, what if they have psychic assassins there. Oh! What if this planet’s an alien? What if this planet is a psychic assassin? Which is a great sentence I just said.

AUSTIN: Yeah, I should note that this is also like "What if the Super Bowl was attended by high fashion models?", right?

AUSTIN: We don’t get a lot of elderly non-binary people. And so Saint Auger is like, what if someone you knew from Portland was 82?

AUSTIN: It’s almost like, what if a crown could be a dunce cap?

AUSTIN: It's like- what if there was a really enterprising twelve year old, who like, [laughs] made a physiology- uh, person- a physiology like, model, but with dirt and rocks and sticks. Also there's no face, the face is also just one of this solid black rock plates.

AUSTIN: And again, there’s just light streaming in through—I think this room is mostly, like, does not have a huge window, but it does have little eyelet windows at the top of the, towards the ceiling, that run horizontally along the room, and just like, bright—it’s almost like, what if colour could be shadow? Do you know what I mean? Like, what if instead of it being that a shadow crosses your face, it is this prismatic glow that moves across the group of you as this thing crawls around this space station.

AUSTIN: It’s like white and blue, there are stars, it- you know, I think that the- it’s, it looks like the way you might imagine like, what if the UN had spaceships?

AUSTIN: What if you mixed your- your selfhood, with the notion of wings. Or the notion of flight. Not just flying. That’s where we’re going.

AUSTIN: This giant battleship that’s like ‘what if a millipede instead of legs had guns and what if it was all around it’?

AUSTIN: This thing is like the size of like a major city. This thing is like, what if Manhattan was a battleship. And instead of buildings it had guns. Except now they’re made of weird black glass.

AUSTIN: The first time he showed up I described him as what if Canderous Ordo decided to have a robot body one day? And slowly began to replace it.

AUSTIN: There’s a little— Yes, it’s like what if a cow— what if Christian Slater was playing a cowboy from New Jersey, and also was Canderous Ordo. And also he eats through his hands.

AUSTIN: There is just this like… I think it’s just metal unfolding across space. Like, at some point Volition just kind of spat out a, a, almost, it looks like a cloud of ink but instead of ink, it’s metal. And it’s just unfolding indefinitely in space like a huge— like what if Akira, what if at the end of Akira when Tetsuo turns into a weird flesh monster? It was that but various types of metal, just like bubbling all over the place throughout space, and I don’t know how you deal with that! But suddenly in the middle of the Mirage there is just this, this ink splatter, this, this gaseous, you know, spread of metal.

AUSTIN: And it’s like — again, it’s like a pistol — it’s like what if a pistol was also like a curved sword, like almost like a scimitar or something?

JANINE: What if we do a live show, but the only live show we ever do is at Bakucon?

ART: Um, let me tell you, this is a nice coat, you guys. Um, I think it’s sort of like what if… What if a leather duster jacket was like an ephemeral idea.

AUSTIN: It’s like … I think the way I described it was, what if there was a Companion Cube that could have its corners pulled apart and in the middle is a weird glowing sphere?

AUSTIN: He has this dope, like, “What if the Millenium Falcon was a deep V?” Instead of just that little bit at the top, it goes really deep down. Or like, “What if Pacman was really long?” You know what I mean?

AUSTIN: Okay. You find him like, rolled under the bottom of his, uhh, or like on a, it’s not rolled under, he’s on like a little, like cart that has a pneumatic lift, or it’s like, it’s like a, it’s like a robot that walks around. It has like- it’s like a Boston Dynamics- like what if a Boston Dynamics, like four-legged robot was also a thing you laid on top of? Like one of those carts that goes underneath a car, to repair it. You know what I’m talking about?

AUSTIN (as Morning’s Observation): [exhales thoughtfully] Like what if milk was a solid.

AUSTIN: But it still has that ribbony-quality? [chuckles] It still has the sound of fabric rubbing on fabric? But is definitely amplified a great deal, probably? And also, we know it’s sharp, so there’s probably some… sharpness to it? You know… there’s probably, like… what if a ribbon could be a sword you pull out of a sheath?

AUSTIN: And also, Saint Sommer is a big lion man. Saint Sommer is, like… Skein. And is a big… a big… like, a big lion man. Not like Lion-o from Thundercats. Like… what if Scar could… had a big human body? Was, like… What if Scar was cut?

KEITH: And it sort of like, snap! Like, that, it's like… when we were talking about what the sound it makes, I was picturing… what if folding a blanket sounded like sheet metal?

AUSTIN: Yeah, yeah. I don’t know I think it’s like, I think this is very much like, what if the Venom symbiote was made of thread, right?

AUSTIN: So maybe it's like a- like imagine, what if a mop could just mop by itself.

AUSTIN: I won’t talk more about that stuff, but you already saw the big picture of “what if Connecticut was a space ocean,” so, you have at least some context there.

AUSTIN: It’s huge. It’s the size of a continent, right? It’s “What if South America was a big circle?” It’s “What if Europe and Eurasia was a big circle?”, constantly cast on this planet. And, you know, from space it kind of looks—not flat necessarily, right, because it’s a curved planet, it’s a sphere, or spherical, but, you know, it’s flat.

AUSTIN: It’s like what if Texas stood up.

AUSTIN (as Morning’s Observation): “What if cars brought things to you instead of bringing you to things?”

AUSTIN: It’s just like a very bright, colorful—like, what if Steven Universe did the Sailors of the Ark? What if that team did it? It’s very good.

AUSTIN: It’s like what if it’s a can opener that does that. Like a living can opener like. Grrrngaaah! I’m going fucking open holes in things! Grrngaah!

AUSTIN: Imagine that they're almost- in my mind they're like what if a martini shaker was a piston.

AUSTIN: It's like what if you could package a sunset, y'know? Into like a cube

AUSTIN: I can't believe we started this recording by looking at pies [KEITH and DRE laugh] that make me hurt and ended with ‘what if all foods could be jelly juice?’.

AUSTIN: I saw a big buffalo picture and I was like what if that was a person, that looks cool.

ART: But what if some of these skeletons are like, sick of this shit?

AUSTIN: I think I pitched this show as like: what if Ghost in the Shell but-but magic and witches instead of cyborgs and stuff?

JACK: So, out come this nascent organization who we’re calling Shapeknights. Who are -- I think the easiest way to say it is “cowboys for trains?” They are, like -- what if instead of the cowboy riding alongside the train on his horse, he was corralling the train? Or he was trying to understand the train, or was trying to --

ALI: I think Marn, herself is a little bit more like—like what if a capybara was a siamese cat?

KEITH: Yeah. So, I wholeheartedly recommend this movie, but if not, if you don't know what I'm talking about with the goggles, at least look at that. ‘Cause it's a good image. It's sort of like, what if you had a jeweler's loupe that had a jeweler's loupe that had a jeweler's loupe?

ART: It’s like, what if the antagonist won the Mummy movie right, this is what happens-

KEITH: What if instead of one, big, beautiful hat I have two small, beautiful hats?

KEITH: Like what if they made headphones just for being cool at a party?

KEITH: What if you make pizza by opening the box? That it was an empty box until you opened it.

AUSTIN: What if insects were made of teeth?

JACK: She’s the fuckin’ person of the train. She’s like what if a train could output a person.

KEITH: What if the train was a nice train?

ART: What if a Madame Tussauds came to life?

AUSTIN: What if fire could be a ghost?

AUSTIN: Looking through this here, sounds like what you wrote here was “What if a dolphin was like a velociraptor?”

AUSTIN: They’re hitched. Yeah, they've been hitched. Three of them have been hitched. And I said horse, but I want you to imagine is what if…what if a shrimp were a horse?

JACK: You sort of just like rise up the slope. It's a bit like what if a train was an escalator.

AUSTIN: What if Beyonce was Poison Ivy?

AUSTIN: All my cards on the table, Millennium Black is like what if Blade stopped being a vampire hunter and started being a casino owner.

AUSTIN: He's sort of like what if Alex Jones wasn't terrible

#friends at the table

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kumeko · 6 months ago

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Prompt: 3houses questioning their initial feelings for one another. Could be Claude wondering if he has any 'right' to love Byleth while he's keeping secrets from everyone or maybe Byleth has that whole "he's a student and i'm the teacher" moment despite their ages being close.

A/N: For th3n0v1c3 for the @claudelethgifts exchange! I really wanted to do your first prompt but I haven’t played Hopes yet so…did this instead! Byleth really struck me as butterfly meme “Is this a feeling?” for the pre-skip part, and kinda falling for Claude later, while he was smitten from the start so…going with his pov for this one.

…

Byleth was beautiful.

Claude rested his chin on his hand as he idly stared out the window to where his teacher stood in the courtyard. Her messy dark blue hair ruffled in the wind as she awkwardly lifted a teacup, still unused to the tea culture of high nobility. From the few times they’d sat across each other in the garden, the tiny table keeping them close and personal, he’d seen intimately just how gingerly she’d hold the fine porcelain, as though afraid her calloused hand would break the handle.

It had been months since she’d started teaching, yet that hadn’t changed in the least. There was none of her confidence that she wore like a badge in battle. Her hand lowered now and though he couldn’t hear it, he could just picture the loud clack as she set her cup back on the table.

Claude hid a smile. He’d never say it aloud but it was endearing. Her hands held the power to change the course of battle, yet a single afternoon snack could completely undo her.

It was too bad he wasn’t sitting across from her now. While she never showed her embarrassment obviously, he had long learned to read her tells: the nervous clench of her hand, the squaring of her shoulders, the way her eyes would shift back and forth as though looking for an escape.

Perhaps beautiful wasn’t the right word. She was captivating.

“What?” From across the library table, Hilda looked up from where she was painting her nails a bright pink. She raised a brow and snorted derisively. “Don’t tell me you’re just realizing that?”

Claude started. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. He hadn’t meant to do a lot of things these days, especially in the presence of Byleth—little by little, it felt like he was losing control over what he said, did, felt. It was worrying. It was exhilarating.

It was a secret he wasn’t ready to share just yet.

Forcing his eyes away from Byleth, he focused on his partner in mischief. Claude chuckled and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Then? Why’d you point out the obvious?” Hilda asked, bemused. Her brush perched precariously between her fingers as she glanced at Byleth. As she fanned her still drying nails, she stated, “You’re not Sylvain.”

It would have been easier if he were. As it was, they were in the middle of Hanneman’s homework, a boring essay on crest history that he could finish without thinking and Hilda had charmed someone into starting for her. Idle musings on Byleth, true or not, had nothing to do with explaining how sub-crests came to be.

And for all of her laziness and free-spirited attitude, Hilda was not as dull as she pretended to be.

“Just…” Claude paused, searching for a reasonable explanation. Something that she would buy without pressing the matter too hard. “The Millenium Festival is around the corner. How many invitations do you think she’ll get?”

Hilda’s eyes lit up. This was a topic that was more up her alley, and she pushed her textbook away as she leaned over to peer out the window. “Good question. She is pretty. And popular.” She dipped her brush as she hummed. “And not just with Sylvain.”

“Right?” Claude grinned, hiding his relief. “The bigger question is who’ll she’ll accept.”

Hilda smirked, her sharp eyes locking with his. “Are you going to try?”

“Me?” Claude laughed. He’d mis-stepped, but this was an easy dodge. “I prefer to watch. You know I’m not one for the spotlight.”

And it was true, he wasn’t. The shadows suited him better, where he could plot and plan and prepare.

The shadows suited him but for some reason, his eyes kept getting drawn to Byleth’s light. Even now, as he chatted with Hilda, his body was still angled to his teacher, watching her from the corner of his eyes. A year ago, he hadn’t even known she existed, yet now he was all too aware of her every action.

Just when had that happened?

Byleth was…strange.

Claude couldn’t think of a better word to describe her. It had been several months since she’d joined the academy, several months of battles, training sessions, and classes, yet he kept circling back to that one word: strange. Sure, she was strong. Confident. Oddly apathetic toward all the norms of society. Her strategizing and battle prowess was matched by no one.

She was also extremely weird. Claude had caught her talking to herself, when she thought no one was around. Her gaze focused on a small spot in front of her, her expression serious, as though she truly were debating with an invisible spirit, as though she really was listening to inaudible answer. Other times, the only discussions she’d have were ones of steel and metal, swords clashing swords. Byleth knew how to use most weapons as though they were extensions of her limbs, to talk with them as though they were her natural language.

She had an uncanny sense of danger, catching mugs before they fell, stopping arrows before they hit.

She stopped to pet every cat in the monastery, as though in a quest to corner every feline in the continent.

Every week, she picked a different activity to help out with, no rhyme nor reason behind her class schedule or her mentoring.

Her face seemed to be carved from granite at times—was she happy? Sad? Angry? Surprised? Who knew.

There was a class bet circling as they all tried to figure out their mysterious teacher. Lorenz thought it was due to her years as a mercenary. Lysithea guessed it was because of her travelling and experiences. Raphael thought she needed to eat more.

Claude wasn’t sure himself.

Her oddest trait, however, was her obsession with fishing. Even without the fishing contest, it wasn’t unusual to catch her at the docks, staring at the fish like hawk ready to swoop at its prey. Now that she had a good excuse to do so, Byleth had set up a stool and a small desk near her rod, ready to field all of her tutoring by the pond-side.

Claude couldn’t hold back his laughter as he sat down beside her. The papers on the table were already water-stained and Lysithea wasn’t going to be happy with the fishy smell. Gently, he teased, “Teach, you know the prize isn’t really all that impressive, right?”

Byleth shrugged, half of her attention on her rod, her hands tense by her side. “I’m not after the prize.”

“Could have fooled me.” Claude shook his head. The textbook in front of him was closed, a mere excuse to visit his beguiled professor. “Do you really like fishing that much?”

She adjusted the tension on her line. “Not really.”

A lie, or did she not realize it herself?

Jeralt hadn’t looked twice at the pond, so she couldn’t have got it from him. The other mercs hadn’t seemed partial to fish, but then again, Claude had met them for maybe a few minutes several months ago; his data wasn’t the strongest. Was it from her mom? A mysterious gene passed alongside her mysterious crest? Or something far stranger and more unusual?

“I haven’t seen fishermen fish like you do,” Claude paused as a stray thought hit him. “Did the ghost of a fisherman possess you?”

Byleth stared at him. “There are no—,” she passed, reconsidering her words. Her eyes slid past him, to his right. “I have not met any fishermen ghosts.”

“So, you’ve met others?” He couldn’t resist the obvious opening. If he were a better man, he’d feel bad about how easy it was to tease her.

“I…” Byleth worried her lip, her brow furrowing. She half-cocked her head, as though listening to someone. “I don’t think so.”

…what sort of answer was that? Claude stared at her, then glanced at his side. There was no one there. There was no one else here. Yet, the way she looked, her wording—just who or what had she met that made her unable to say no? “Then—”

Byleth sprang from her seat, mere seconds before her rod tugged, as though she had sensed the fish biting the lure. Her lips curved slightly, a rare almost-smile. “It’s here!”

It was silly yet Claude watched, transfixed, as she battled the fish as seriously as she did their enemies.

Byleth was strong.

He had known that from the moment they’d met, her eyes ablaze as she swung her sword in the battlefield. No human could be that powerful.

He hadn’t realized just how strong she was until now, in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Byleth had taught their class for only a month so far, most of her time divided between studying his classmates’ quirks and learning from the other professors how to teach. They had spent the first week discovering the hard way that proficiency in battle wasn’t the same as proficiency in teaching.

All of the Golden Deer’s cohesion came from a few practice skirmishes, a handful of session they’d managed over the month. And even then…Claude grimaced as Leonie once again charged off on her own, too eager to prove herself. Sword raised, eyes sparking, the ginger-haired girl made a beeline for the Black Eagles. It didn’t help that Jeralt was nearby, leaving her even more raring for a fight than usual.

“Leonie! Don’t go too far!” Claude shouted.

It was too late. She was already out of earshot, disappearing into the nearby thicket. At least she had enough sense to hide herself.

Stomp. Stomp.

Not that it mattered when Raphael followed her, axe in hand.

Claude groaned, turning back to the rest of his classmates. At least they’d all stayed here, awaiting orders. He’d accounted for this. Mostly. As long as no one else went rogue, they’d be able to take advantage of their two…distractions.

He caught a glimpse of dark blue and turned. Then again, this wasn’t technically his battlefield. His plans meant nothing if Byleth wanted to do something else. “Hey, Teach.”

“You anticipated them,” Byleth stated, her electric blue eyes meeting his.

Had she assessed his skills already? Claude shrugged. “Hard not to. They do it every time.”

Her lips tugged slightly—a smile? —before her expression flattened once more. “You want me to go after Leonie.”

This he hadn’t anticipated. Claude stared at her, surprised. That was precisely what he’d hoped for. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll leave the rear command to you.” Byleth nodded before taking off.

Maybe it was her years with Jeralt, but after that, the battle flowed smoothly. As though she were reading his mind, Byleth darted from spot to spot before he could even open his mouth. Seamlessly, she slipped in and out of skirmishes with her students, supporting their fights, aiding those who needed a second wind.

There was no need to massage the course of battle to match his plans. No need for back-up ideas, careful suggestions, or gentle ego manipulation. All it took was a nod, a gesture, a single word, and Byleth turned his thoughts into reality.

Byleth was a stranger.

Kinda. She was Jeralt’s daughter, she had saved his life, and she was a future teacher, so Claude supposed she was beginning to become an acquaintance. From the corner of his eye, he surreptitiously watched as his saviour walked next to him, her body tense as she curiously regarded their surroundings. Her head craned left and right as she peeked into rooms and studied the arching ceiling.

She hadn’t heard of the Knights of Serios, despite her father being a former member. When Rhea had asked him to guide her around, Byleth also seemed entirely unfamiliar with the archbishop that her father once served.

Even children in Almyra knew of the basics of Fódlan’s politics. Curious, Claude asked, “Jeralt never told you about Garreg Mach Monastery either?”

Byleth shook her head, twisting her body as she watched a guard pass by. “Are most schools like this?”

“No, this is a special one.” Just what had her father taught her then? Aside from the sword? “It’s one of the few neutral places in all of Fódlan.”

“Neutral…” Byleth frowned, as though uncertain of why that was important. She returned her focus to him. “No…I didn’t even know this place existed until now.”

Maybe her father had wanted to keep the entire religious order a secret. “I take it you aren’t acquainted with the Church of Seiros either?”

“Seiros…” Byleth furrowed her brow, digging into her memories. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but she shook her head. “The name sounds familiar but the rest…”

Claude chuckled. Her responses were oddly refreshing. “Make sure you don’t say that to anyone else. Some might consider that blasphemy.”

“Oh.” Byleth took his throwaway joke seriously. She glanced at his arm. “All three of you are skilled fighters. Did you learn that here?”

How much had she assessed from that single battle? Then again, it didn’t take an expert to notice Dimitri’s strength or Edelgard’s prowess. Or his own skills, regardless of how far in the backline he’d hovered. “Well…we will. But what you saw was something we already knew. Most of the students here learn the basics before enrolling.”

“There are some flaws with your stances but…” Byleth worried her lip. “If all the students here are like you, there won’t be much for you to learn.”

Flaws with our stances? Now he really wanted to know what she’d observed. She’d used a sword that day—was that the only weapon she knew? “It’s not like the only thing we’re learning is how to fight.”

“Oh, really?” Byleth looked confused as she refrained from asking anything else.

And he had a sinking suspicion that if she had, her question would have been What else is there to learn?

That was the face of a woman who didn’t know what else a school was for. Yet, Lady Rhea had mentioned she was a future teacher. How? It felt like she needed to attend class more than he did.

“Claude—” Byleth paused. She frowned. “Is that fine?”

“What is?”

“Should I call you that?” Byleth asked. “Or am I supposed to use titles here? Jeralt always handled our deals with the nobles, so…”

Now she asked? It’d been an hour since they’d started the tour, weeks since they’d last met, and he was certain that Rhea had mentioned his status if Jeralt hadn’t informed her. Despite that, she hadn’t once asked changed her tone or behaviour toward him, acting the same as she had when they’d first met. While Garreg Mach claimed status didn’t matter, that was easier said in theory than in practice.

“Claude’s fine,” he answered with a grin.

Maybe he should get her to teach his class after all.

The woman in the battlefield was unrestrained.

Whether it was in her actions, her words, her decisions, there was nothing tying her down. She ran across the field, her long hair flowing behind her as she darted from enemy to enemy. Prince or commoner, she didn’t seem to care who protected, how noble their blood or where their alliances lay.

For a moment, Claude paused, his arrow nocked on his bow.

She did not look like a woman weighed down by secrets.

She did not look like a woman chained to her past or weighed down by responsibilities.

She looked free and something in him tugged.

Byleth was in front of him.

It had been months since she’d joined the school, months since they’d met and talked and defended each other’s backs. She knew his name and lineage. She knew the alliances and politics in the school. Yet, despite that, nothing about her had changed.

Byleth was still free. Still herself. Still unchanged. Her help was the same whether it was for her student or another’s, whether it was for a noble or a pauper.

It was easy to say. Harder to do.

And she did it every day.

“Claude?” Byleth cocked her head as she watched him approach. “Was there something you needed?”

Yes, but he didn’t know what. Ever since he’d seen her from the library window, he’s been unable to sit still, no longer content to be at a distance. No, maybe it had been long before that. Maybe it had been weeks or even months ago, when she’d changed from stranger to acquaintance to friend.

Things had been easier when he’d just thought of her as curiosity.

Now, tongue-tied and filled with an unfamiliar nervous energy, he didn’t know what to do, what to say. Only that his conversation with Hilda had haunted his thoughts—Byleth was beautiful.

There were many who wanted a dance with her tomorrow night.

He just hadn’t expected to be one in their number.

“Have you heard of the legend of the Goddess Tower?” Claude asked. He wondered what side of Byleth he’d see if he took her hand and led her across the dance floor. If he stood side by side with her, staring up at the Goddess Tower.

If he told her his real name, his real home, his real self.

“No.” Byleth shook her head.

He smiled. “Then, let me teach you for once, Teach.”

Claude wasn’t sure what this burgeoning emotion inside of him was, but he was determined to find out.

#claudeleth #byleth eisner #claude von riegan #claude x byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #fanfic #claude falls first but she falls hardest #not that she'll realize it for a while XD

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scrawlithium · 10 months ago

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Is it okay if I request a yandere captain from hellsing

Of course, love~! I wasn’t sure what exactly you wanted, as you didn’t specify, so I went with a oneshot in the end. I hope it matches up to what you wanted!! I’ve never written for The Captain before, so forgive me

Yandere!Captain x reader

It began with his eyes.

Silent, cold, and observant, they followed you everywhere, like a ghostly presence lurking just out of reach. The Captain wasn’t the type to speak—he never did—but his actions spoke volumes, far more than words ever could.

You had known him for some time now, always at the edges of your life, a towering figure that made even the bravest hesitate in his wake. You had nowhere else to go, but a soldier friend of yours had offered to let you stay at the headquarters of Millenium. A bit strange, but it’s doable.

Then there was that man. He was a man of few expressions, yet his intensity made you feel as though you were under a microscope, every move scrutinized with an obsessive devotion that felt both unnerving and—dare you admit it?—strangely intoxicating.

The first time you had crossed paths with the Captain, you hadn’t thought much of it. He was just another soldier, yet a powerful one. Respect was practically a given. Yet, somehow, he stood out even among the top. Perhaps it was the sheer size of him—imposing and unyielding, a shadow that seemed to stretch forever. Or perhaps it was the feeling he invoked in you: a creeping chill that slid down your spine whenever he was near as if he were a wolf waiting to give chase should you decide to run. His presence was suffocating, yet you couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

As the days passed, you noticed him more and more. Standing at the far end of the room, lurking in the hallway when you turned a corner, always there, watching, waiting. At first, it seemed coincidental. How many times had you told yourself it was nothing? That he was just doing his job, a trump card keeping his watchful eye on his surroundings? But there was something deeper, something darker in the way his gaze never left you.

The Captain was not a man of simple curiosity.

It wasn’t long before the nightmares began. Dreams of being hunted, of running through endless corridors with him always a step behind, his breath hot against the back of your neck. In the dreams, you never saw his face, but you always knew it was him. You could feel his presence, that same suffocating weight, like a predator stalking its prey. A werewolf on the hunt. No matter how fast you ran, no matter how far you fled, he was always there, just out of reach, but closing in.

And when you awoke, drenched in sweat, you could feel it—the Captain. You’d sit up in your bed, trembling, only to catch a glimpse of movement outside your window. A flash of white. A fleeting shadow. You’d rush to the window, heart hammering in your chest, but there was never anyone there. Just the empty night, cold and silent.

He was tormenting you, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak out. There was a certain helplessness in the situation, as if your very being was entangled with his, as if he’d woven an invisible web around you, and no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t escape it.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but one day, it became clear that it wasn’t just an obsession—it was something far more dangerous.

He started appearing in places he shouldn’t have been. In the shadows of your home, standing at the end of a hallway, always just on the periphery of your vision. And then came the gifts. At first, they were small—a perfectly preserved flower left on your doorstep, a delicate charm you’d admired but never mentioned aloud. You never saw him leave them, but you knew. It was his way of marking you, staking his claim in a way that was both possessive and unsettling.

But then the gifts grew darker, more disturbing. A broken mirror, the shards glistening in the moonlight. A photograph of you, taken from an angle that suggested he had been watching you while you slept. And the most chilling of all: a lock of hair that was unmistakably yours, carefully braided and tied with a red ribbon.

Your fear grew with each passing day, but so did something else—an inexplicable, unwanted attraction. It made no sense. You knew what he was, what he was capable of. You had seen the way he handled those who crossed his path, the merciless efficiency with which he carried out his duties. He was a man who lived for violence, for the thrill of the hunt, and yet…there was a part of you that couldn’t deny the pull he had over you.

It was the night he finally came to you that changed everything.

You were sitting in your room, the weight of his presence thick in the air, when you heard the faintest creak of the door. You froze, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed larger, darker, swallowing the light. And then he stepped into the room, as silent as ever, his eyes glinting in the dim light. The Captain. Millenium’s trump card.

He didn’t speak—he never did—but his gaze said everything.

You should have screamed. You should have run. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something inside you had snapped, the tension that had been building for so long finally breaking free. And instead of fleeing, you stood frozen as he approached, his towering figure casting a shadow over you.

There was a dangerous edge to his movements, a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. His hand, large and calloused, reached out and brushed against your cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle for a man who had known only violence. But the intent behind it was unmistakable—he wasn’t here to hurt you, not yet. No, he had something else in mind.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from yours, his cold gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that left you trembling. His fingers trailed down your neck, lingering over the pulse that beat frantically beneath your skin.

In that moment, you knew: there would be no escape. He had decided that you were his, and there was nothing you could do to change that. You had been caught in his web from the very beginning, and now, there was no way out.

His lips hovered near your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered a single word—one that sent chills down your spine and sealed your fate.

“Mine.”

#hellsing imagines #hellsing

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marsipaniscool · 1 year ago

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Santana really did have a shit life. First, his family was massacred. Then he got kidnapped by the murderers and told to become a strong warrior, and when he failed, they just left him there for a minimum of 2000 years. And THEN he woke up to being experimented on, and I'm not sure if he then died or stayed alive but in pieces. Lowkey hope he died and has some peace

RIGHT. gonna talk abt both of the boys because I feel like they bounce off of each other really well, almost foils. under the cut because I love yapping <3

in my opinion, Wamuu and Santana internalised Kars' and Esidisi's actions very differently. Wamuu acknowledges it happened, but his loyalty to his masters runs so deep that he willingly turns a blind eye to it, even though it brings him a lot of turmoil. I think that's a part of the reason he doesn't like fighting women or children, he sees Kars ordering him to kill his mother, and even himself as a child. Something something if Wamuu had been a child instead of an actual baby, he realises Kars would have had him killed too more than likely. He copes with this by proving his worth time and time again on the battlefield, doing quite literally whatever Kars demands. This increased tenfold when Santana was left behind. Yeah Wamuu talks big game about having a code of honour and strong morals but alllllll of that goes out the window when daddy kars demands. Honestly, Wamuu won the genetic lottery in terms of being a fierce warrior, he ends up taller than Kars or Esidisi and appears more well built. I don't think it was the fact that Santana was weak, I think he was just comparatively weak to Wamuu, and ended up being perceived as the weakest link. Kars and Esidisi had milleniums of training and Wamuu was a fighting prodigy, so Santana, who was probably just an average, untrained, pillar person (see:child), was by default the weakest. Santana had to process the information of Kars and Esidisi killing his family in an entirely different way. While Wamuu came to his own conclusion, I can easily see Kars holding that information above Santana's head. Santana had to hear that Kars "saved him from a life of darkness and drab" and how Santana should be "thankful you (Santana) weren't slaughtered like everyone else/your parents/family." When physical punishments were given to Santana, I can see Kars and/or Esidisi telling him how he was just as worthless and weak as his mother. I talked about it in-depth before, so just to rehash my thoughts: Santana was abandoned in Mexico at least 5,000 years ago (K,E,+W went to Eurasia in search of the super aja.) Santana would have looked around 10 years old at his age of 5,000. Picking up here, Santana would very likely stick to the same general area for quite a while before branching out into the greater Central America. Honestly think he became an idol in these areas due to him being bored as fuck with a booming population of humans around him. I see him spending a few thousand years like this, until eventually he got bored/not enough nourishment/whatever happened, and he fell asleep for several thousand years. Really leaning towards lack of nourishment leading to his slumber, he holed himself up in the temple and only woke up to a copious blood sacrifice. He woke up, the events of the show happened, Santana is stone in the SWF again. I don't think Santana is dead, I think they woke him back up and experimented on him. Von Stroheims entire mechanical body is based off of Santana. They may have been able to study him to such a degree while he was asleep, but honestly I think homeboy was awake and just restrained in some fashion while the Nazis and SWF experimented on him. I really hope he passed by the events of part 4 at the latest, but maybe they studied him until they were satisfied, and then kept him turned to stone. Maybe they had Joseph swing by and kill him idk. I just hope he found a peaceful ending.

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #battle tendency #jjba headcanons #pillar men #pillar men headcanons #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #santana headcanon #wamuu headcanon

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